Luang Prabang was an interesting place. The town is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and, cycling around town, it was easy to understand why. The city has a charm all of  its own. It was also easy to see why the UN was contemplating taking the title from them as it was changing very quickly.
It seemed that people were attracted to Luang Prabang for the rich cultural heritage of the city. It was stunningly beautiful with the combination of historical French colonial charm and Lao flavour. Yet the very essence that made the city so special was slowly being rebuilt, remodelled and revamped to accommodate the influx of tourists. I could see the change happening all around. The few Lao people that I talked to didn’t seem to mind; they wanted a higher standard of living, but what price would they pay?  I actually felt sad in a way. Small charming buildings were being pulled down to make way for trendy cafes, guest houses, bars and shops. The very reason why people visit Luang Prabang was being destroyed by their (our) presence and desire for western-style luxuries. You can’t have it both ways, I thought.
Luang Prabang wasn’t an isolated case. It sparked a heated debate with some fellow travellers over dinner about the impact of tourism on sensitive cultures and landscapes.  One Japanese lady who had invited us for a meal was helping a Lao family open a guest house. What I found really interesting were the crowds of expats that ‘fell in love’ with the city, deciding to open trendy bars and restaurants to cater for foreign tastes with foreign prices. The only Lao people I saw in such places were the few people that worked there. If you really loved the place, why on earth would you want to change it? Didn’t this contradict their ‘love’ in the first place?
I stayed at the local Wat nearby, helping the monks build a sewerage holding tank in the temple grounds. They were very kind and I befriended a young monk who was studying in Luang Prabang. They kindly offered leftover food and made sure I was comfortable in the small sala I was sleeping in. It wasn’t until I left that I realised how well the monks eat.  Just as in Thailand, every morning they go out to collect alms from the local community. But, in Luang Prabang, this was becoming commercialised, making a business out of selling food to the tourists to give to the monks. It took away the very meaning, essence and sanctity of the act. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me so much, except that the meaning was lost. I saw hundreds of tourists lining the streets to give food to the monks, cameras in hand, without a single local there supporting them. I wouldn’t blame them for not joining in on the circus; the monks of Luang Prabang ate well.
I found a man to weld my bike back together for about $2.  In all fairness, there wasn’t much to weld but I was eager for him to take his time and make it as strong as possible. With my frame mended, I headed north towards China. I had heard about a guy who was organising a tour into Tibet via the southern route to Lhasa – one of the most spectacular cycling routes in the world.  On learning about the possibility of getting a permit to enter Tibet, I was eager to join the group and made haste to Lijiang, China.
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